


Really

by Psilent (HereThereBeFic)



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Gen, episode: s01e03 Are You Receiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:08:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereThereBeFic/pseuds/Psilent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That's what you really look like, huh?" The man's expression does not indicate hostility and he is not holding a gun. But. But. //Set at the end of Ep3. SPOILERS.//</p>
            </blockquote>





	Really

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Spoilers for episode 3 ("Are You Receiving?"). Gun violence.

"But then again… You're not a _man_ , are you?"

There's a bullet in something important to complex thought, but the bitter amusement manages to trickle through. This is going to be the last thing he ever hears.

A moment later there is still a gun pointed at his head, and several more ready to take its place--but he is no longer alone.

Somehow, it makes a difference.

\--

John tries to help him down to the ground floor, no matter how many times Dorian tells him he won't be able to support him if he does fall.

"I _know_ you know what a pretense is," John insists. "Work with me here."

"Pretense won't protect you if I land on your ribcage."

Bickering and stumbling, they make it outside. Dorian can feel his skin peeling away from John's makeshift wound dressing (which he _will not_ think of as _gum_ , because _seriously_ , **_**gum**_**?).

A paramedic makes a brief attempt to haul John away, and he makes a briefer attempt to wave her off. They circle each other, at an impasse. "Get somebody for him," he says, jerking his head towards Dorian. "He's full of more lead than anything he's _supposed_ to have in him."

"I'm doing my _job_ , Detective Kennex." She waves a pen light in front of his eyes, watching him track it. "If I had a quarter for every cop who's told me he's _fine_ and then passed out five minutes later, I'd be a rich woman."

Dorian is… fidgety. He's not in pain, exactly, but he knows how much damage he's taken and he knows he's got critical systems in danger of going down and his body is, to the best of its current ability, sending him urgent signals to that effect. He's losing track of his surroundings. He hears  _rich woman_ again, and then again in the wrong pitch and then again with a wavelength his brain tries to process as light.

His vision dims back to the correct settings in time to watch another paramedic wander up, slouching and dragging his feet, clutching a cup of coffee. There are bags under his eyes that look like bruises and his shirt is on backwards under his coat. Dorian can't run a full scan but he'd bet money the man has taken someone else's shift.

"Hey," he yawns. "They sent me to find--woah." He catches sight of Dorian and stops in his tracks. "Uh. _You_. They sent me to find you."

Dorian cocks his head. "Are you all right?"

"Uh, yeah, just-- _wow_." The man leans far too close, peering at the hole in his head. "That's what you really look like, huh?"

Dorian blinks, taking a step back and trying to evaluate. The man's expression does not indicate hostility and he is not holding a gun. But. But. Something is overheating. Thoughts are coming too slow. He can't see.

_That's what you really look like, huh?_

**_**Interrogative. Accusatory. Correlate.** _ **

_You're not a man, are you?_

**_**Correlate.** _ **

_I'm gonna stop arguing with a piece of silicon and carbon fiber!_

**_**Correlate.** _ **

_Synthetic._

_Synthetic._

_Synthetic._

_**Correl** gonnastoparguingwithapieceofnotamanareyousiliconandcarbonfiberwhat_

_youreallylooklikenotamanareyounotamansyntheticsyntheticareyousyntheticnot_

_amannotamannotamannotreallylooklikesyntheticreallynotnotnotnot--_

"Hey!"

Someone's hand is on his arm. He aborts the imploding thought process and stares until he can see that it's John's.

John is yelling something-- _saying_ something, not loudly, but like he'd like to be. It takes 2.3 seconds for the words to make sense. _I'll tell you what he **really looks like** , is someone who just saved a whole bunch of people you better be **damn grateful** you don't have to try and **put back together** , pal._

Dorian lifts his head and wonders if he should "take the high road." The paramedic is tired and bewildered and likely meant no harm.

**_**Intentions do not change results. Old rhetoric: Intent is not magic.** _ **

He straightens up, as best he can. " _This,_ " he says, pointing at the bullet wound, "is what I _really_ look like, in the sense that _you_ \--" --very, very carefully, he pokes the paramedic in the chest, and fights mixed satisfaction and disappointment when he flinches-- "--really look like your musculoskeletal system."


End file.
